


Rigmarole

by JayBarou



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: M/M, Other, miscommunication as a form of communication, put two monsters together and let's see what happens, the achives gang have no braincells, when you unknowingly play matchmaker successfully, when you unwittingly adopt a gaggle of archive staff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-16 19:00:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 5,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29087256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JayBarou/pseuds/JayBarou
Summary: Gerry's book finds its way to the Archives sooner than expected.The staff at the archives are good matchmakers, but only by mistake.
Relationships: Gerard Keay/Michael | The Distortion, Gerard Keay/Michael | The Distortion (The Magnus Archives)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 32





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> [Inspired by this post on Tumblr](https://autisticflowey.tumblr.com/post/635535097266896896)   
> 
> 
> Thanks a lot to the folks on discord who helped locate it!

When Damian had started his work, he had been ready to believe cryptids would the worst of his troubles. Nobody had properly warned him about awkward conversations with foreign old ladies. So it came as a shock when his boss told him to do whatever the woman wanted and to look after her documents as if his life was on the line because it probably was. He had peeked at the documents, how could he not after such an order? But it had been just one of many statements. It didn’t seem to merit a trip from London to America just to pick up a document sent from China.

And when the woman turned up, she hadn’t even blinked twice at the documents. Instead, she had been adamant that they send some old tome she had brought with her to the Magnus Institute, but _only_ if something happened to her. She had vaguely explained what it was meant to do, and he had been trained to believe the unbelievable, so her story was not the hardest part of the conversation. Basically, in his opinion, it was a book to keep her legacy alive. In his opinion, it was a very basic concept and it wasn't as dramatic as he had been led to believe.

“What, like a checkpoint?” he tried to joke.

“Hm.” She was the farthest from laughing he had ever seen in a human.

“A Horcrux?” He insisted because maybe the English reference would ingratiate him to the scary lady.

“Hm.” It didn’t work.

He sighed discretely and reached for his customer-service persona. “We will do as you say, ma'am.”

“That’s better.”

After that, Damian was terribly curious, but he had limits. Maybe his limits went beyond what others would deem legit, like remembering his coworker’s mobile passwords and intruding in people’s privacy, but he thought he still had boundaries. In fact, he was sure those boundaries were the only reason why he had been working at the Usher Foundation for three years without getting maimed or worse. He was curious enough to keep an eye on the woman and learn about her disappearance a month later; he had boundaries enough to send the parcel with the book to the Magnus Institute without peeking.

All for nothing, because he died six months later anyway.


	2. Chapter 2

Gerry had spent an insufferable amount of time in transit. Apparently, fear artefacts tended to detour from their intended destination when sent in the regular mail. Delivery men got distracted or killed or disappeared while delivering, and then the parcel became evidence and had to remain in a file-box until the person in charge of the evidence had a bit of an arson crisis, and at least Gerry could relate to that part. Then a bystander had taken the suspiciously intact parcel with her and... he should have seen it coming: the kind of person who is at the arson scene picking things up ended up being the reason her neighbour could no longer sleep at night. Well, there had been a few more like that before a familiar couple with a white van had picked up the book from a pool of blood and said: “We know where this goes”.

The bad news was Gerry finally understood why there were always the same delivery men involved when moving fucked up artefacts. The good news was he had not ended up with Salesa at least; he would hate knowing his exact price in pounds. The worst news was he ended up in the Institute anyway. As instructed: Sent directly to the Archivist if Gertrude were to die or disappear.

The book arrived long after Jon was appointed Archivist. It was too late to keep him from signing his contract, too late to stop him from reading about the anglerfish, not even in time to save Martin from a lifetime of wriggling nightmares, but just in time to explain quite a few things.

The ex libris on the first page had been a blessing and a curse. Gerry hated that for all intents and purposes he now had the arsehole’s name tattooed in his forever home for lack of a better name. Although, the man had been under his skin for far longer anyway.

Unfortunately, it was also the only reason the new Archivist had looked at it twice instead of sending it straight to storage. Jon had taken his time and researched a few statements before reading Gerry's page. The fact that he still read it after a thorough investigation meant, in Gerry’s professional opinion, that Jon was a bloody idiot who would get in _so_ much trouble.

And since Jon was doomed anyway, so why not save him a few bumps in the road? Yes. The man had bloomed before his eyes; the paranoid person who had read his page was not the same who had left the archives that night with good reasons to double down on his paranoia.

“At least now I know why I felt watched.” Jon’s voice echoed in the tunnels Gerry had shown him almost as soon as he appeared.

“Feeling watched is a symptom, the illness runs deeper.” Gerry nodded.

“What will happen now? If what you say is right, we can’t leave, we can’t fight...”

“And waiting is just letting others decide your fate.”

“But, is there _some_ way, _any_ way to leave?”

“Yes.”

The pregnant pause remained, hanging in the air for too long. Jon couldn’t take a hint.

“...Any reason why you are not rushing to tell me?”

“Yes. _My_ reasons. I might be inclined to tell you, but... I’m still ball-chained to a book.”

“And we are ball-chained to an Institute apparently! What is your point?”

“My chain’s reach is short.”

“And withholding information from us helps you how?”

“Heartless is contagious.”

“I... see?”

“You don’t yet. But before you go.” Gerry looked into the darkness of the tunnels. Still better than the oh-so-great-stare above. “You should leave me here.”

“In the tunnels? I can’t just... abandon you here!”

Gerry took a moment to study the man before him.

“Jonah really chose you to be her diametrical opposite, huh?... Don’t worry. The Lonely won’t fish me out in this state and I might just catch something of my own.”

“I... what? No, wait, at least I’ll tell Martin to check on you. If he is sleeping in the archives he might as well come.”

Jon ended up leaving Gerry’s book tucked in a corner with a look of confusion, but that only added some spice to Gerry’s tasteless existence.

Gerry had hated the idea of spending his eternal death hiding in the tunnels, playing spooky encyclopaedia to a bunch of people who shouldn’t have gotten involved in the first place. On the other hand, Jonah wouldn't be happy when he realized his minions were getting some kind of external help. And petty reasons were still good reasons in his book. So he toyed with the idea of asking the baby archivists to burn his page, maybe that Martin fellow, to stop the pain, but he didn't voice his thoughts yet. He had always dressed like a vengeful spirit from beyond the grave anyway, it may be about time to act the part.


	3. Chapter 3

Sasha had spent a very long time that day debating if she should tell someone about Michael, she wasn't sure. Then again, Jon had told them about Gerry, right? And Gerry had been a big help in many ways, and a pain with his occult metaphors in many other ways... The point was; Jon had trusted them with the ghost knowledge, so... She ended up telling him.

Jon had listened to Sasha without the scepticism that he wore as a shawl during his first weeks in that basement they called their job. She suspected Gerry had much to do with that change of attitude too.

Jon didn't let her go alone, saying he didn't want her to become a statement. That was why they had gone together to the little coffeehouse after work where Michael was sitting as if he hadn't moved since she left.

“You didn’t come alone. You brought the Archivist," Michael declared cheerfully, but they could hear the reproach dripping loudly.

“Are we here to state the obvious?” She countered.

"You couldn't expect her to just trust your word." Jon deadpanned.

Michael looked at Sasha. She averted her eyes knowing as well as the monster that "trust" had not been the reason why she had told Jon.

"And how exactly would your presence help things if I posed the danger you thought I posed?"

"Let's say I came to keep her company and proceed."

“Indeed. Company just loves misery.”

Which meant now there were _two_ people confused by the Michael guy who could only speak in riddles. There might have been two of them, but that was not enough to understand what he meant or his intentions. Later on, their decision-making combined proved to be poor at best, because they met with the monster again anyway.

Their encounter was as unsettling as one could expect, and only moderately enlightening.

And of course, they didn’t even consider sharing it with Tim and Martin until after the fact. As a consequence, there was shouting afterwards about work hazards and teamwork. And for all they tried to keep Gerry company in the tunnels, they didn’t tell him until a _week_ after the disturbing encounter. Shouting abounded and echoed. 

“The corruption got to you?! And you didn’t tell me?!”

“I didn’t think it was _that_ important. I thought one of the others would have told you! Martin and Jon come far more frequently than I.” She leaned back against the brick wall. “And you must admit, you are not the most accessible guy.”

“I’m here all day, what’s not accessible about me?”

“You are not in Braille?” Martin joked weakly.

“Don’t get cute, I’m mad.” Gerry pointed a translucent finger at him. 

“So?” Tim got back to the point, he didn’t seem to like lingering in the tunnels. ”What do you know about worms?”

“Not much, but I can tell you quite a lot about a man who loved his _petit scarabée_ very much. _”_

Gerry looked at their attentive disposition, bright eyes, and respectful silence. Amazing. Like children waiting for a bedtime story, like the Eye’s cubs. How could the seeds of eldritch horrors be that cute? _Because there is still some humanity in them... for now_ , his cynical brain added.

He would kill for a smoke.

“So Gertrude and I went to Paris once...”


	4. Chapter 4

They had been visiting the tunnels for months already when something clicked for Jon. Martin had stayed after work to tell Jon that he had found a new place to live and they had ended up, once again, spending time with their resident ghost.

“By the way, Jon, two guys brought something for you.”Martin rummaged in his pocket. “A... a table, I think, and this.”

“A lighter?” Jon took it and Gerry narrowed his eyes.

“A lighter _with a web pattern_." Gerry bristled. "Of course, because what’s paranoia without a few breadcrumbs to make it soar?”

“I read some statements about you; this might suit you better than me,” Jon dared to joke ignoring the ominous phrasing.

“From the library of Gerry Lighter, huh?” Martin followed.

Gerry was entirely unimpressed with their attempts at humor. But there was something else behind a mask of nonchalance... He was... tense. Jon knew it was because Gerry was in pain. Except... he hadn’t known Gerry even felt pain a moment ago. A few months ago, before Gerry, Jon would have blamed his keen observation on picking up body language. By now he knew he couldn’t afford to think like that anymore. Gerry was a blunt proof of the supernatural every day; too real to let denial a foothold. So this knowlegse was the Eye sleeping in.

Jon tried to distract himself by looking at Martin. “And the table?”

“I don’t exactly have it _on me_." He shrugged. "I think Elias sent it to storage.”

“Do you even know he is lying to you? If there is any humanity left in that curmudgeon, it must be swept under the rug of some history book.”

“Wait, what did you say?” Jon squinted.

“Curmudgeon? I would have thought an archivist...”

“No, the first bit.”

“The part where _he is lying to you?_ Because That part is self-explainatory. _”_

Jon frowned. He had heard that somewhere. Someone...

“You are _thinking_ , Jon, you don’t have a good track record thinking. What is it?”

When Jon focused once again, both Martin and Gerry were looking at him with worry.

“I don’t know. I must be breathing too much tunnel air.”

Gerry let the issue drop easily enough, but Martin had spent a fair amount of time in the archives, and around Jon in particular. So when they were walking out, both heading to the tube, he had his question ready, even if it was laced with a slightly shaking voice.

“What is it, Jon? What were you thinking about?”

“I don’t know, Martin. I feel like there is an idea on the tip of my tongue. When he said his line about being lied to. I think, I think Michael said the same thing before. But I don’t know what it could mean.”

“Is it... is the Eye interfering?”

“I have no idea, but it is definitely not helping.”

“Maybe it is nothing. Maybe it is a catchphrase the spooky puppets are required to say? From what you and Sasha told us, they both come up with a lot of nonsense.” 

Jon huffed what was almost a laugh and Martin looked away quickly. “They do, don’t they?”

The tube station swallowed them for the night and sent them in different directions, but Jon couldn’t stop ruminating the words. There was an idea, and it wanted out.


	5. Chapter 5

The idea didn’t take full form until two days later, when his assistants dragged him from his office to eat lunch with them. Nothing in particular triggered it. He was just looking at Tim’s new mobile, hearing him talk about how he had eye-proofed it the way they had protected the break room following the indications of their most reliable source, and it just clicked.

“Wait, wait. I think...” He trailed off.

“What a surprise,” Tim interrupted, but he put his phone down.

“I _think_ I have an idea.” Jon turned to Sasha. “The way Michael talks... I don’t think we know enough to understand what he means, and that is exactly what he's playing whith. But _Gerry._..”

She gasped and perked up. “I _see!_ It could be worth a try!”

“Please, never say ‘I see’ again in here,” Martin mumbled into his lunch.

“Yes, yes, yes!” Sasha kept going. “They both speak gibberish, but Gerry might be convinced to _translate_!”

“I don’t know, what if they form an alliance against us?” Tim leaned forward. Some days he felt like he was the only one still sane in their group, but then he remembered being literally dragged from a Stranger-statements binge by them and the feeling passed.

“I don’t think they will.” Sasha batted a dismissive hand.

“Because you don’t think. Full stop,” Tim countered quickly.

“Sorry, you have no right to whine about not thi-”

“How do we lure Michael in, though?” Jon cut the bickering before it got traction. “Or how do we find him? He never turns up when you expect him to. I’ve already tried calling him...” He realized Tim and Sasha were looking at him weirdly. They probably had good reasons too, but he shrugged. “ What?”

“Mm...”

“Yes, Martin?” Jon asked out of curiosity but out _er_ of avoiding the judgemental stares.

“Maybe Gerry knows how to summon him.”

“That... That’s an idea.”

They went quiet, letting both ideas sink in, letting the implications sink in, letting the whole scope of their situation sink in. And the unanimous conclusion was the same, but some were quicker expressing it:

“Dibs on not telling him.”


	6. Chapter 6

“Absolutely not. It is the worst idea you lot have had yet. Why would you summon one of the Spiral’s things? What is the point? You can’t trust him, that’s the whole thing of the Spiral!”

It had been raining, and water dripped somewhere deep in the tunnels. Their silence was thick enough to hear every drop. Gerry felt like chastising children, complete with each one staring at a different wall.

Gerry could admit he was milking the misguided hero worship they had going for as long as they kept him in some metaphorical pedestal. It was the eerie glow, he was sure. At some point they would see sense, realize he was just an achy, glowy, book, and burn him as they should.

Until then, they at least listened to him.

Tim broke from their little group. “But... He keeps saying we are being lied to. We want to know why.”

“Why?! Saying Magnus is tantamount to saying lies! Why else?! Besides, I don’t know how to summon him.”

Tim crossed his arms. “Why did you get so worked up if you don’t even know how to call him?”

“Sheer common sense; not as common as it sounds, and a veritable rarity in this building.”

“Will you talk to him if he appears?” Tim asked, barely concealing the angry and brisk gestures he wanted to throw at him.

“Yes.”

That seemed to confuse them further, Tim’s tension drained away, but the rationale was easy: If Gerry refused, they would go ahead on their own and they wouldn’t tell him any more about their fatally stupid plans. This way at least he could do some damage control.

“Yes?” Martin’s eyebrows went to visit his hairline.

“Yes.”

They didn’t seem to want to test their unexpected good luck, so they didn’t ask him why. Gerry couldn't feel it, but his intuition told him of the Eye was pushing curiosity into them, but...

“Fine... Fine! Great!”

Not enough to overpower Gerry’s own intimidation powers. He smiled privately.

“We will... we will send him here if he appears then!”

Gerry rather hoped he wouldn’t appear now that he was so eagerly expected.


	7. Chapter 7

And of course, since Gerry hoped it wouldn’t appear, narrativium demanded he appear right away.

Fortunately for everyone involved, none of the archive staff was there when he heard something like arrhythmic firecrackers. He had been hearing all kind of noises in the dark, to the point where he was almost sure there was someone living there, maybe more than one. And more creepy noises, like the wriggling and squelching ones, and the rats and the leaks and old pipes... The tunnels were practically a rave of shudder-inducing noises in the dark, and Gerry wouldn’t be surprised if it turned out a Leitner was behind all of them, for the aesthetic.

But the arrhythmic firecrackers were new.

And so was the faint light that was growing stronger along with the noise. Gerry's own glow was hard to hide in total darkness, the faint light made it less eye-catching, but it didn't matter because the figure that came into view was too distracted to notice. The... thing, was almost tap-dancing to some imaginary music, looking at its own... could he call those feet when he felt in his ethereal bones they weren’t feet? Oh, well, it was looking at its own feet to save himself the headache of finding a proper word.

There was a door trailing behind him, shadowing him. In fact, it slid like an extension of the thing, like a cape... Or maybe like a puppy obediently following its master. It was hard to tell because if Gerry tried to focus, his mind told him that door had always been there, even as it moved. The result was dizzying, but he focused enough to notice how over the door there was an emergency light illuminating its steps in an overly dramatic light for such an uncoordinated dance.

It took Gerry a few moments, but he noticed the strange steps were not dancing, or they were, but not entirely. It was stepping on worms. Those little wriggling menaces where nowhere to be seen when the archive gang came down with lights, but Gerry had heard them in the dark. He had suspected the wet noises were more than common vermin after hearing Martin's tale, but he hadn't had luck seeing the things until now. Just another suspicion confirmed then. 

One of the jerky twirls of the dancing figure brought it to face Gerry’s side of the tunnel and it froze. Even its mane of blond hair froze instead of bouncing naturally. It looked like the proverbial deer in the headlights, shiny eyes included. 

Gerry had been told his resting face was a permanent unimpressed scowl, and he didn’t bother changing it for the occasion.

The creature stood frozen for a few seconds. Then it seemed to puff out, before instead deflating. Gerry guessed it had meant to talk but changed its mind. Gerry grinned internally. It was not every day that one managed to startle a Fear power into looking like _prey._ Only Gertrude did that on a daily basis, the rest of them had to make-do with moments like the current one. 

Then he remembered he had promised to talk to the Distortion if it appeared, and although he doubted this was what Tim meant, he kept his word.

“Enjoying the underbelly of the Eye?”

Or at least he tried to. He had not finished his sentence when Gerry had a sudden perception of the thing's back, no turning, just it's back; then the door opened and it went inside, stepping on a final worm on its way out. After the door closed, Gerry found himself in a starring contest with a yellow piece of wood.

He had seen it move before, but he felt like now it was stuck in place. He had no idea if it was just a perception, or actually locked. Now that it was aware of his presence it seemed to be more normal than before. In fact, Gerry thought it was the most normal door he had ever seen, it was probably messing with his senses. However... maybe if he kept the starring contest until Jon or Sasha came down it could play in their favour. Maybe he couldn’t summon the Distortion, but hew wouldn't discard the opportunity of pinning it in place if it presented itself so readily.

There was a noise of a plastic wrapper being crushed beep in the tunnels and Gerry got distracted. His eyes slid for a fraction of a second to the dark maw of the tunnels and the door was gone in a blink. It took the light with it and he was once again in the dark, but apparently not alone. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning, from here on the conversations between Michael and Gerry are a bit gibberish and the intelligibility is cranked up for fun and just fun. There is a way to follow them, but they change topics fast and talk in riddles. If you want a translation I'm always happy to clarify in the comments.

Maybe Gerry forgot mentioning his encounter with Michael. Maybe he was too busy warning them about the worms. Maybe it slipped his mind when they were dousing the tunnels in CO2 looking like a cheap remake of Ghostbusters, and when they found the worm circle. It was possible that Martin’s shout was more pressing than some monster. Maybe... Maybe he really forgot about it when they found the body.

He hadn’t expected to see Gertrude ever again. He hadn’t even asked much about her. Hearing the official version was only a disappearance did nothing to reassure him. He had known she had to be dead because she was too bold to lay low for any length of time, but seeing her... He had seen a lot of dead bodies, and he had not trusted Gertrude enough to consider her a friend, but she had been the closest thing he had to an anchor, and...

“We should call the Police...” Sasha whispered when she crowded the door with the rest of them.

If there was one sentence to wake him from his musings, that was it.

“The _Police??_ Are you serious? Have you been listening to anything I said? When something doesn’t fit their suspicions they jump to the next most suspicious thing and pin it there.”

“Which just happened to be the punk boy with the lighter next to the burning ashes, right?” She taunted.

“I resent that.” He crossed his arms. “I have never in my life been a _boy_.”

“You never got around to growing old; deal with the consequences,” Tim was checking the body closer and the jibe had no heat. He was too focused on the gruesome spectacle. 

Gerry’s attention drifted to Jon, who was done consoling Martin and had been tempted away from the main show. The guy leaned forward and picked a tape from a cardboard box. After examining it for a second he seemed to feel Gerry’s eyes on him. They locked eyes. Jon lifted the tape between two fingers. Gerry shrugged with one shoulder. Jon took a step back to take in the size of the whole collection of tapes. He let the one in this hand clatter back in the box and sighed.

“But if we can’t call the Police, what are we supposed to do? We can’t leave her here! We should at least do something!”

Jon turned back to his co-workers. Martin was understandably distressed, but it had been Tim who posed the problem. He turned to Gerry accusingly, as if it was Gerry who had manifested the inconvenient corpse.

“Burn her,” Gerry answered on automatic. It earned him an uncomfortable silence. “What did you expect _me_ to say? Don’t wait up for the night and then get surprised by the dark.”

“Fair.”

They looked back at the body. Gerry didn’t want to think about her as anything but a body. If it wasn’t a body and it was Gertrude... well, he might start to remember things. But a small part of him, a part he was not proud of, might suggest her skin was still well preserved, maybe enough to be bound to a certain book. _See how you like it for yourself_ , the small part would say...

“Actually, I can’t think of anything else to do.” Martin summarized.

“I will get the gas.” Tim left the CO2 canister by the door and went out.

Sasha got over her reluctance and went through the body’s pockets. Jon moved the boxes of tapes next to the body and sought Gerry’s eyes for some reassurance. Gerry guessed it was harder than giving up smoking, but he had never given up neither the eye nor smoking, so he couldn't be sure.

“This won’t summon the Lightless people...” Tim said when he came back with the gas.

“This doesn’t work like that,” Gerry explained again. “I’m probably the only thing that can actually be summoned.”

“I just think it would be less symbolic if we buried...” Tim cut himself. Martin hid a laugh in a cough.

“No, go ahead, finish that one.” Gerry pushed with an audible smile.

“No of course. And if we just let her...” Tim looked up at the ceiling.

“The Corruption,” Jon mumbled distractedly, like the advantaged pupil he unfortunately was.

“And if we...”

“Tim, don’t finish that thought, _the flesh!_ " Shasha almost screeched. "And I swear to God, if you make me think of taxidermy there will be two bodies today.”

Tim whined jokingly. “Is there no safe way to get rid of a body any more?”

“Just light the thing up before someone manages to think of something worse.”

Martin was the one to start the fire in several places so it would burn faster.

“Jon.” Gerry tried to use his stern voice, but he was out of practice.

“What?” The little man looked back in defiance.

“Jon...” If his stern voice was not going to work, his disappointed one may just do the trick.

Jon sighed, took a tape out of his pocket and threw it to the pyre. The flames were still small, but plastic was already making it turn green and blue.

“Jon...?” Gerry stayed in the “o” just long enough to be annoying.

Jon rolled his eyes, took another tape from his other pocket and threw it to the fire too.

The toxic fumes of the plastics would probably kill them if they stayed for too long, but not just yet. The whole ordeal was quietly upsetting, the metaphorical loss of the one who could have answered so many questions, and the literal loss of so many statements that could guide them but would probably just bind them tighter to the Eye. A hinge whined.

“Anyone wants to, I don’t know, say a few words?” Martin broke their contemplation.

“I didn’t know her.”

“I did,” Sasha said, as if she had only just remembered. “She used to come to artefact storage like it was her personal backyard. I guess it kind of was.”

“I didn’t know her either.”

“I did.” Gerry didn’t want to look at the face, now so unfamiliar in death. “But I won’t say anything nice about her.”

“She was never this warm in life!” Said a cheerful sixth voice amidst them.

Tim jumped away. Sasha barely had time to shout “Michael!” before Martin, all instinct and zero processing thought, shot his fire extinguisher in Michel’s direction. Unfortunately for everyone in that closed space, the CO2 had suddenly decided it was time for a career change and what came out of the muzzle was a very loud screeching shout. It rattled their bones almost as much as Michael’s laughter.

“I couldn’t miss the passing of the crown.” He stood, arms wide open.

Of course, only Gerry heard him or saw his theatrics, because after the noise the rest were too momentarily deaf or still too permanently dead. The thing seemed to be waiting as if the chaos he had caused was only now registering; the lack of attention annoyed him. Well, Gerry would give him attention. He crossed his arms.

“Do you do birthdays too or are the cartoon-clown tricks a funeral exclusive?”

The thing focused its attention on him. It seemed to remember their last encounter dancing on worms. It seemed unhappy with it. Good.

“ _I_ am definitely not exclusive to funerals, unlike your looks.”

Gerry laughed the way the concept of tiredness would laugh if given lungs.

“A hackneyed joke for a hackneyed Spiral,” he said with no small amount of derision.

“Maybe... Maybe you just expect it to be your funeral every day.” It was so focused on Gerry... Disdain dripped from its every word.

Gerry walked closer to the thing and somewhat to the side, not out of curiosity, not out of a misguided attempt to get some knowledge, and not a bravado. It was just that he hoped at least one of the Archive’s motley crew would spontaneously grow a brain and realize they could escape. Hopefully, they would be clever enough to head for the real door and not the Spiral’s shadow. 

“Where reason hides, instinct shines. So what instinct drove you to crash this party?”

“Must there be a reason?”

“Yes. Fear absent, something else today must have been the key. Did you know Gertrude?”

From the corner of his eye, he saw the others pulling themselves together. They were moving out of his peripheral vision. It had been slow, and Gerry couldn’t lose his focus, but he had seen the baby archivists going for the exit door. Michael noticed the movement too and made to go in their direction. Gerry blocked its advance.

“What? Already bored? Are you done _dancing_ around with me?”

Michael did something, almost like flinching, almost like frowning. Its face insisted on not registering in Gerry’s memory, so he wasn’t sure. Gerry still smiled his most annoying smile, a smile that had earned him many extra hours grounded, two punches, and once, a stabbing scar.

He heard coughs behind and to the right. Disappointing. Someone must be trying to reach his book, which they had discarded in a corner during the impromptu funeral. The fire was growing into a pyre; he couldn’t tell, but the air must have become a pain to breathe by now. He didn’t look back. Michael didn’t break the staring contest.

“Leave before you run out of oxygen, morons!” He said firm but calm.

There were more coughs, steps getting away, and he thought he recognized Jon’s stride, so with a hunch he tried to reach his stern voice again.

“Jon!”

He didn’t need to elaborate. He heard a plastic case bounce off the pile.

Finally Michael was alone with him, and Gerry dared to ask a question. Not a good idea at all, but there was not immediate danger for the archive people, or even himself.

“You mentioned the crown. The Watcher’s?”

“You seek information in the wrong place, Crow.”

“That’s what I told them!” Gerry allowed himself to complain a little, which earned him a chuckle.

“Too many attentive eyes, no ears leant to reason.” There was a menace in the tone that alarmed Gerry. 

“If you dare to go for their eyes...” Gerry growled.

“...ahhh, but I wouldn’t help them like that.” It laughed.

“...but... You... would. Help...” Gerry’s expression twisted with the effort to stay two steps ahead of a creature that walked in zigzag.

Gerry couldn’t help but notice how his image wasn’t disappearing, vanishing, or being dragged away. Which meant his book wasn’t far, which in turn meant his idiot gaggle of archivists must be hiding just around the corner. Vanishing would have been quite convenient right bout now, but their damned curiosity would end up killing someone.

“Did you get what you wanted, then?” Gerry pressed.

“When do we ever, Crow?”

“Fuck off, then.”

Michael still stared at the fire for a while. It laughed at seemingly nothing, walked around the fire and sent Gerry curious looks and serrated smiles. Gerry paid it the least possible amount of attention while being on high alert. The tapes made obnoxious whistling noises when bubbles of air escaped. The corpse’s noises were far more natural in comparison.

“Dear me,” it finally said. “I don’t think anyone will be able to moisturise that back into shape. Don’t you think?” And with that and a twinkle in his eye, Michael left.

Gerry turned towards the door to the tunnels, opening the gates of the righteous fury of a bear. He shouted even before he was out of the door.

“Archivists! I know you are there!”

Sending well-earned fear into the hearts of the archival staff, who were huddling and badly hidden not five yards away from the door.

“We need to talk!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should mention that with Leitner still alive and Gertrude's corpse gone, they have destroyed Nikola’s B plan accidentally.


End file.
